The Case of Sherlock Holmes and The Man In The Suit
by November9Noir
Summary: An imagined meeting between Holmes and Reese, see Author's notes please!


PoI/Elementary Crossover

Title: Sherlock Holmes and the Case of The Man In The Suit

Author: November9Noir

Rating: G

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, nor am I profiting from this work in any way. All characters (probably) owned by CBS.

A/N: An imagined meeting between Holmes and Reese, somewhere in the middle of the first season of 'Elementary,' which led to something I thought would be funny at the end of the first half of Season One finale for 'Elementary.'

Joan Watson was enjoying her weekly indulgence of French-press coffee (black with sugar) and a cream-filled maple bar, basking in the early winter sunshine from the kitchen window and reading The Post. Holmes paced in the other room before his 'thinking wall,' which was organized in a system that made sense only to him. He stalked up to it, muttering to himself and pulled off a few strings and pictures and fragments of newspaper articles, then stepped back, still glaring at it. After a moment, an incomprehensible British oath blistered the air as Holmes kicked over a large stack of books.

Watson jumped, her reverie broken. "Sherlock, what the hell?!" she cried in exasperation.

"Bored, Watson," Holmes replied sullenly, tossing the innocent books every which way. They landed all over the front room with varying degrees of satisfying 'thuds'. "Bored, bored, bored, bored, bored, bored, _bored_! None of the cases that Captain Gregson has offered me recently has even remotely tested my capabilities. Venal, petty crimes, all of them! What is wrong with the criminal classes lately? I need some sort of challenge!"

He subsided, slumping to the floor, drumming his fingers, and still pondering the wall display. Watson sighed and went back to her paper.

After a few minutes of silence, an article caught her eye. "Hey, Sherlock, have you heard about this? There's a man in a suit here in the city going around saving people from bad things, and also sometimes beating up bad guys. The cops want him for questioning."

"Pish-tosh, Watson, yes, I have read those stories in that rag you call a newspaper. A man in suit going around rescuing people and also punishing evildoers? Complete nonsense! The urban vigilante is nothing more than urban fantasy! Rot and poppycock!" and a few more choice Briticisms. "Quite frankly, you insult me by even suggesting I look at the case. Now, please do not speak to me again. You have interrupted my thought processes quite enough for today.

Watson snapped the paper up and studiously ignored him. Holmes became lost in thought again, whether with his current images on the wall or some other conundrum, who could say?

The doorbell rang. No one made a move to get it, and after a short time, it rang again. "Watson, someone's at the door," Holmes said. Her look clearly said 'You're closer,' but there was no arguing with Holmes in this mood. She put the paper down and went through the hallway, avoiding the living room, to answer the door. Both doors opened, and she stepped out onto the porch, leaving the doors open. Holmes could hear her speaking, but not what she was saying.

"Who is it, Watson?" he called after a few minutes. No reply was forthcoming.

"I say, Watson, who is at the door?" Holmes roused himself a bit lean over and call a bit louder. Still there was no response. "Really, Watson, this is very childish to ignore me just because you are miffed with me." He finally stood up and walked over to the doors himself just as Watson and another man came into the entranceway.

Watson was a bit flushed and started at seeing Holmes. "**Who…is…it, **Watson?" he demanded.

She couldn't quite hold back a grin. "Mr. Holmes, meet The Man In The Suit."

"Don't be absurd," Holmes started to say, then took a look at the man. Six-foot-two, black hair, blue eyes, lean and athletic, black suit jacket and pants and white shirt. "From the rather vague police descriptions, yes, you somewhat appear to match them."

"May we speak inside?" the Suit asked.

"Yes, of course, please come in." Holmes let the man go first, then leaned over to Watson as she went to follow. "Do stop drooling, Watson," he whispered to her. "He's not _that_ attractive."

Mr. Suit walked in to the living room like he owned the place. Sherlock followed, observing him intently. "May I offer you something to drink? Tea, perhaps?"

Suit took one of the armchairs, his back to the wall and out of line-of-sight of the windows. "Water, thank you," he replied.

"Watson, will you please?" Holmes never took his eyes off then man as Watson went into the kitchen and came back with a bottled water. He took it, saying 'thank you' in a low, quiet masculine voice, and Holmes swore he could see Watson quiver all over. He mentally rolled his eyes at the fickleness of women as she joined him on the couch, then focused on their guest.

"As you doubtless know, I am Sherlock Holmes, British citizen and of late consulting detective to the New York City Police Department. This is my associate, Dr. Joan Watson, retired trauma surgeon _extraordinaire_. How may we be of assistance, Mister…?"

"You can call me John," the Suit replied without missing a beat. He seemed relaxed, but in taut control, an arrow knocked in a bowstring, ready to fly at any moment.

"Yes, quite. How original," Holmes mused. "Very well, John, what brings you to my abode?"

"Mr. Holmes, your remarkable detective skills have come to the attention of my employer, and we have a favor to ask. If you are ever called to investigate the case of 'The Man In The Suit', we would like to ask to you respectfully decline. The less attention to our business, the better."

"I see. And what, may I ask, is your business?"

John gave a small shrug. "You deal with solving a crime after it's happened. We try to prevent crime before it happens."

"How very Orwellian," replied Holmes. "That aside, why should I help you in any way?'

"It's very easy to make it not be a request," John answered evenly, his eyes going cold. Watson shifted in her seat, suddenly uncomfortable, but Holmes merely scoffed.

"Please. In Scotland Yard, I dealt with some of the most ruthless criminals in the world. A southpaw ex-CIA agent in a slightly wrinkled suit isn't enough to scare me!"

"It's true then. Your powers of deduction are remarkable, Sherlock Holmes."

Holmes acknowledged the compliment with a slight bow of his head. "So, to prevent crime before it happens? That would entail data mining on a _massive_ scale. But how to narrow it down to productive information for an individual? Some sort of computer program, obviously. But still, a machine or any computer program will never substitute for the human intellect. For example, in the few minutes you have been here, I have already deduced a great deal about you."

John smiled to himself, as if to say '_this should be interesting_.' "All right, Mr. Holmes. Dazzle me."

"You're in your early 40s, somewhat worse for the wear, but as I've only recently crawled out from under the bane of heroin addiction, I am hardly one to judge. Your appallingly bland American accent could have you hailing from anywhere in the western third of the United Stated, I'd say most likely the Pacific Northwest, eastern Washington state. You served in the military, Army, most likely, and obviously more than competently if you attracted the attention of the CIA."

"How do you know I'm not still CIA?" John asked, his face betraying nothing.

Something between a chortle and a snort came from Holmes. "If you are, John, then you've really let yourself go. Your haircut is all wrong, white shirt, no tie, and no crease in your trousers? No, you're definitely retired CIA. Not freelance, though, since you've mentioned an employer."

"I've told you as much as you need to know, Mr. Holmes." John leaned back in the chair. Holmes sat back himself and considered him, tapping steepled fingers against his lips.

"It's interesting, because I was just saying to Watson here that there was no case pending challenging enough for me. And now I am presented with a most intriguing puzzle indeed! But, to be fair, I will tell you that is was a simple enough matter to determine the fact of your left-handedness. It is an unusual trait, one shared by myself, by the way, but most people in the world are right-handed, so it is fairly noticeable. And when Watson gave you the water, you took it with your left hand. It's all unconscious, and you may have been distracted by Watson drooling over you."

Watson punched Holmes in the meaty part of his arm without changing expression. Holmes mouthed '_OW_!' rather theatrically and held his shoulder. John gave a ghost of a smile and stood up.

"That is the proposal, Mr. Holmes. All our cards are on the table."

"Oh, I highly doubt that, John," Holmes replied, standing up himself. They were nearly of a height, he and John. "Well, as novel of an idea it is as stopping crime before it happens, I happen to find greater satisfaction in catching the perpetrator and seeing that justice is done. And done properly, through the courts, mind you, and not done by some sleekly-dressed vigilante. Although you could do so much better. Why do American men insist on buying off-the-rack?"

Then, mentally brushing that aside, he offered John his hand. "Tell your employer that I promise not to put forth any effort on the case of 'The Man In The Suit'. And I expect you will stay out of my affairs, as well."

John hesitated. "How do I know you'll keep your word?"

"I'm an Englishman, John. My word is my bond." John met his eyes and returned his handshake firmly.

"Well, have a nice day, John," Holmes said expansively, indicating the way out. It wasn't exactly 'here's your hat, what's your hurry?', but it was close. John took it with enough grace. He stepped past Holmes to go the door. "Oh, and do give my regards to your girlfriend," Holmes called out to his back. John stopped dead and turned to him.

"I can smell her perfume on you," explained Holmes. "The elements have a different effect whether the wearer is male or female. I have a much keener sense of smell than most men. Also, you don't strike me as a homosexual."

"'Gaydar', Mr. Holmes?" John smiled.

"Just alert perception and deduction, John. That particular brand of perfume skews into a bit younger age group than you and I, and it's very high class and expensive. Maybe you should pick up another bottle from Macy's on your way back to the Upper East Side and your society debutante."

"She's not a spoiled little rich girl living on the Upper East Side," John said evenly.

"No?" Holmes asked in surprise. "Well, then, perhaps a bohemian squandering her trust fund living in SoHo."

John, his face still dispassionate, shook his head. "Nope, not that either."

"Impossible!" burst Holmes.

"You just can't stand to be wrong, can you?" smiled John.

A sputtering Holmes replied, "No, that's not it at all, but… It's just that…"

"He just can't stand to be wrong," Watson put in wryly.

"You could be lying to me!" Holmes accused.

John looked faintly amused by that. "Do you think I'm lying to you?"

"You don't show any of the classical signs of lying, no, but then, you could be a psychopath. Psychopaths are excellent liars."

There was a definite small smile on John's face at that. "There are more than a few people out there who would say I am a psychopath, that's for sure."

"Including your girlfriend?" Watson bantered.

"She had a few choice words for me at the beginning of our relationship, yes," John reminisced fondly.

"She sounds like the forgiving sort," she sympathized.

"She's practically a saint,' agreed John. "But I do know where she shops, so thank you, Mr. Holmes, I think I will pick something up for her on the way."

Watson walked him out. "Are you _really_ not going to put forth any effort to find out who he is and who he's working for?" she asked Holmes as she came back into the living room.

"I said I wouldn't, Watson," he replied. "I rather think we'll have enough on our plate soon enough to bother with any side projects."

(Somewhere around 'Heroine/The Woman')

The Library was fairly humming, and Reese caught Holmes' image on Finch's computer screen. "Are we looking into Holmes now, after all?" he asked.

Finch shook his head. "The Machine is going crazy, flagging people around him, so something's definitely up that he's involved in, but he's surrounded by police most of the time, so I don't think he's in physical danger. I think the perpetrator must be a foreign national as well, so we can't track them directly. He's stayed out of our business, so, as promised, we'll stay out of his."

"We are on to something here!" Watson declared. "We need your help to put this away!"

"I'm sorry, Watson. Irene needs me. I ruined her life, I owe it to her to do this."

"And just what are we supposed to do without you?" she demanded.

Holmes got up to leave, but just before he got to the door, he turned his head.

"If anything should happen while I am gone, Watson… Call the man in the suit." With that, he was gone.


End file.
